Marks Across Skin
by needsmoreicing
Summary: They all clear their throats and lift their eyebrows when they see her, because an honorable man like John Watson doesn't need a woman like her. But Cassie doesn't mind, she doesn't push but she doesn't bend either, and for the moment she's happy and in love with the man that will undoubtedly break her heart when he realizes just like she already has that he wasn't meant for her.


_On a path to love one often meets Prince Charming, but he is not your prince charming. He is lovely and kind, takes care of you when you need it, can bicker with you and still want to remain by your side, and yet he is never truly yours. Maybe that is the worst part about them, knowing that their heart doesn't really belong to you even though your's may belong to them. I was born to belong to no one and at the same time to everyone I met. I marked journeys of love and sorrow on to skin, old and young alike. Stories of bravery and of cowardice, family, hatred, and eternal glory painted forever on to a person._  
_That is how I met a prince, John Watson._

* * *

The smell of sterilization was maybe the first thing he noticed upon entering the shop, always a good sign when working with bodies, and the second was the sign offering tea for those waiting for their appointments. With a light scoff, he settled himself into one of the lounging chairs in the reception area, if he had wanted tea he'd do it himself. Picking up one of the portfolios, he rifled through an artist's work. Eyebrows raised as he looked at the slightly cartoon like nature of their designs, no definitely not for him. He couldn't deny that it was good work, just not suited to fit the more somber nature he was looking for. So he set the binder down and chose another from their selection. The next one was more of an American Traditional worklet, with solid firm lines that he could appreciate but they didn't hold his attention.

"Tea?" John startled from his chair, head snapping up to meet honey colored eyes at his eye level. He blinked, his mouth agape, once, twice, and with a third he managed to close his mouth.

"No, thank you though." John said taking in the rest of her appearance. An unnatural shade of red pulled back into a sleek tail, a long nose that was slightly off center from being broken, round cheeks and a firm chin, and perfect lips painted red and accented with two black hoops on the bottom right side, which she pulled at lightly with her teeth before she smiled.

"Alright, well I'll let you get back to your selection. If you need anything let me know." And she walked away. She didn't linger like most women, wondering where they'd seen his face, or give him the casual once over of appraisal that more often than not felt like he was up for auction or a selection of beef.

_Hm, yes, that variety of John over there looks quite appetizing. I believe I'll have that._

He shivered slightly and tugged at the neck of his forest green jumper. Crossing his leg over the other, he picked up yet another binder of work. The work seemed more professionally put together than some of the run of the mill work he'd seen in most places. Large pieces that had intricate detailing and would take several hours and sessions to do, he knew. The artist knew color and saturation, variation of lines and fluidity but he wondered if they could do something smaller. Most of the work he was viewing took up almost the entire body, a few cleverly placed swathes of fabric covering what some might consider indecent.  
Still, he pressed on and forward even though his mind kept wandering to the last portfolio. John sighed heavily and picked up the binder again, running his hand on the cover and opening it again. Glancing at the bottom corner he saw that every piece had the same indicating marks of the artist, an artfully done C.M. initializing their work.  
Standing and rolling his shoulders, John made his way to the reception desk as he viewed other's getting their various tattoos or piercings. "Er, um." The redhead looked up from the keyboard she was typing furiously on.

"Made a selection then?" She smiled as John nodded and handed her the book. "Ah, very nice. You'll be happy to know you've made a wonderful selection." She bounced off the stool with a happy grin as she stuck out her hand. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm the artist." She winked as John took her hand and shook it like he had many other hands. Her fingers were long and her nails scraped gently along his wrist making his pulse jump. "Sorry about that, meaning to get them trimmed but alas," She shrugs her shoulders and makes an almost cartoon like expression of a grimace while continually shaking his hand. He laughs briefly, almost startled by the sound coming from him. "I'm Cassie Metaxas, by the way, and you are?" His arm has stilled and she raises an eyebrow expectantly with a slight quirk of her lips. He forgets how to be a regular human being sometimes, and he introduces himself.  
"John, er, Watson."

"Ah, well then let us make our way over to my station and we'll start you up a sketch."  
She draws a conversation out of him as she works, she listens to what he wants and makes suggestions, stays quiet when he needs it and adjusts what he isn't happy with. He takes off his jumper and shirt as he sits on her table, the print out taking just a little longer than either them expected and his eyes travel around the booth.

It's spacious as far as some of the other booths go, and he wonders if she rents her booth or maybe she's just lucky, it's clean and organized which he can appreciate as she goes about preparing the equipment and ink. But she doesn't ask about the Japanese Koi fish swimming in opposite directions. She does mention that fish swimming in conflicting direction often reminds that you could take the easy route or the hard one. He just smirks as she fumbles with some ink when she realizes he's already stripped, and it makes him feel a little bit more alive that a woman who might tattoo hundreds of people a day fumbled over him. Cassie gives a tinkling laugh as she cleans the ink that missed the small well and sits in the artists stool.  
"Right or left shoulder?" John pauses and unconsciously rubs his right hand over the scar on his left shoulder and down to the Celtic Knot inked around his bicep.

"Right." She doesn't move, but stares at his face for a moment and her eyes flicker to the Knot.  
"You have a story for that one," He can see a brief flicker of warmth behind the golden irises before they dart to the scan in her hands. "much like this one, I suppose." She sets the drawing down and hands him his shirt back, which John puts back on despite his confusion. "Care to tell me about the knot?"  
John stops and runs his hand over the bullets exit wound again and squeezes his bicep as he shrugs. "I was in a war. We get tattoos. It's what men do," He tries a bit of humor and flexes "Gr, me manly man and all that."

Cassie laughs in delight but the softness of her eyes is still present and he knows that she isn't going to bite. "I don't think that you'd be one to get a grievance knot without knowing what it was and a bit about its history." She leans forward and puts her arms on the table cradling her head. "You were in a war, John. Who did you grieve?"

It would be so easy to call her unprofessional and discredit the dedication to her work with what could be mindless chatter, but he sees the warmth and it touches him. For a brief moment he can feel the heat of the sun in Afghanistan on his shoulders and the laughs of his mates around him. "Eric Kelly, we called him our Golden Potato. Lost him in a car bombing right before we were supposed to be sent back home, it hit all of us hard because we'd seen others lose their members but we hadn't. We thought we were the lucky ones and he always said it was the luck of the Irish." John shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "Lost a lot that day, had shit luck since." Shaking his head once more. "Why am I telling you this? Why do you care?"

Cassie slides up and sits straight in the stool. "Because this," she jerks her head to the scan she's prepped "is special for you too. It's a memorial one, isn't it?" John doesn't answer so she goes on a bit. "You've been hesitant this entire time, but I bet you didn't have a single reservation about that one. What makes this one so different?" Again he doesn't answer, so Cassie fishes. "How did it feel when you knew that Eric was gone?" John grimaces and Cassie places a hand over his own, his jaw tightens and he hold her eyes in a silent plea to stop. "It's not the same for this is it? Why?"

"Be-because," John rasps to say it out loud, say his undeniable truth out loud. "I don't- I don't feel like he's gone. I know he's out there somewhere, I can just feel it. It's stupid because I saw him, I felt his bleeding pulse and he should be dead, but I know he's alive."

Cassie squeezes his hand and places the scan in her portfolio, then starts cleaning out her inkwells. "Well, I guess we don't need to do a memorial piece for someone who isn't dead, hm?" She looks at the rendering one more time before giving a hum and snapping the binder shut. "Pity, would have been some great colors."  
John stares at her in disbelief. "That's it?"  
Large brown eyes meet his own in confusion and they blink as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "Yes, why else would I put the drawing away?"  
"If this is something Mycroft or-" Her expression turns to one of mock horror.  
"Who-croft? Did you just say Mycroft? You know someone named Mycroft?" Cassie blinks a few times as John slowly nods his head. "Poor bastard."

John gives another snort and raises his eyebrows as he tugs the jumper over his head. Standing he looks over to her again to shake her hand but he spots a lopsided grin on her face and that her eyes are on top of his head.  
"Is something wrong?" A blush creeps across the bridge of her nose and she pulls on the end of her ponytail, looking like she'd been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar.

"Er, your hair is all mussed." She laughs again and his stomach flips a little. "It's kind of sexy."  
John gives her a faint smile and feels his ears tinge red a little at the compliment. He's not sure that he likes the way she can float through his moods, but he feels better than he has in months. So he goes out on a limb. "Thank you, I- uh- this might be a bit unprofessional, but I think- I mean I know that I'd like to take you out for coffee. What I mean is, you know, I don't usually stumble through things like th-"

He's cut off by a hand on his forearm and John is grateful that she's trying to hold back her chuckles for the sake of his dignity. "I rent my booth from the store and I don't have appointments for today, what do you say we go now?"  
John's eyebrows nearly meet his hairline, which may or may not be receding, much to his dismay. "Like right now, as in, this instant?"  
"Yeah, why not? I'll grab my stuff." Cassie gives another smile before she heads to the front desk and speaks to an older man, he takes another look around her stall. He can't help that old habits die hard. John sees pictures of faraway places, Italy and Prague, friends and family, models and photos of various tattoos all baring her initials.

"Snooping through my stuff already, huh?" She catches him with his hands behind his back and bent over looking at some pictures of what he assumes might have been family gatherings. Cassie's bright red eyebrows lifted and her plump lips spread into a smile. "I thought you to be more of a second date snooper, Mr. Watson."  
"Old habits are hard to let go." He gives a shrug that he hopes looked as effortless as her own.  
"You'll have to tell me what you see one day."  
She doesn't ask for now and she doesn't press and John likes that, so he offers her his arm as she drops the curtain behind her and gives a pleased grin as he opens the door and leads her out into the streets of London.


End file.
